


i fall apart (and the snakes start to sing)

by doctor_whatthefuck



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Bestiality, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Forced Orgasm, Gang Rape, Knotting, Other, Public Humiliation, unwanted arousal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-11-19
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:00:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27629924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctor_whatthefuck/pseuds/doctor_whatthefuck
Summary: Cel's captors decide to warm them up before the main event.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	i fall apart (and the snakes start to sing)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cythra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cythra/gifts).



> i cannot stress enough that this dove is dead. this dove is dead beyond any hope of resurrection. if dead dove is a part of a healthy diet for you, then by all means proceed. if not, then i must refer you to the other items in this fridge, that are not dead doves.  
> words used for cel's genitals are folds, cunt, clit and entrance.

The contraption they have Cel strapped into is far more padded than they’d expected; a level of consideration they don’t really understand. That, or nobody wants to deal with their busted knees.

“It’s thoughtful of you, anyway,” they slur - the gas the goons had used on them, one which Cel would very much like the formula of, hasn’t left their system completely yet. They’re grateful, honestly. If this is how scared they are while drugged, they don’t want to know how terrified they’ll be sober.

Because they’re pretty sure they know exactly what this thing they’ve been bent over, that raises their hips and keeps their head down, is intended for. Why all their captors seem so excited, the atmosphere so much like a party.

Laughter, from over their head, and Cel swallows hard. Then there’s the heat of someone behind them, before a hand lands hard on their arse. Hard enough to hurt, and they jolt forward, sinking their teeth deep into their lip.

“Skinny beanpole of a thing, aren’t you?” the lad - or would he be a bloke? Cel will have to enquire later - chuckles. As if to demonstrate, he pinches at the scant curve of their arse, and Cel bites their lip even harder, enough to draw a trickle of coppery blood. 

“Better get them warmed up first then, hadn’t we?” a woman calls from further away. More laughter, then someone hoots in mocking delight, a cry taken up by the rest of the lads/blokes.

The one behind Cel chuckles again; Cel’s glad someone’s having fun. “Oh, you’re going to like this,” he croons, and Cel can feel his other hand on them, both bunching at the material on either side of their trouser seams.

With one harsh yank, their captor tears their trousers right down the middle, then yanks even harder until the material comes away from the waistband and their entire crotch is covered only by the thin fabric of their drawers. Another tear and that too is gone, leaving them exposed to the cold night air.

A shiver wracks them, as hard as they try not to react, and Cel bows their head. They know what’s coming; they can survive what’s coming. They’ll make it through.

Only, the man at their back steps away, after only one more caress to their arse. “Bring him over, then,” he calls, and Cel can hear the ugly smile in his voice.

Footsteps; one pair bipedal and lighter, the other... is that a quadruped? There’s the jangle of a chain as well, and as the two near, the wet huff of an animal. 

Oh. Oh  _ no. _

The dog’s nose is icy cold where it nudges against them, bumping right into their folds - but of course, that’s probably where the good smells are. Cel swallows hard around a helpless whimper, their mind a blank black hole of  _ no no no no please no please _ that they absolutely will not be voicing. Begging isn’t going to help, and they refuse to give these monsters the satisfaction.

“See, sweetheart,” the woman tells them, her voice brightly sadistic, “this one’s a special breed. Bit of something magical in him, never did find out what. Smart as hell, probably smarter than some of the lads here.” That sets off another round of jeers. “But for some reason, that comes with the issue of him not really wanting to get it on with other dogs. Maybe he thinks he’s too good for them, I dunno. But I think you might just about be on his level.”

The chain rings out again as the woman circles round to stand by Cel’s head, pulling the dog forward. And, oh gods, it’s  _ enormous _ , definitely mixed with something exotic, because it covers far too much of their back as it rears up and mounts them. Its massive paws come down squarely on their shoulder blades, grinding them into the bench.

It’s so  _ hot _ above them, thick fur radiating animal warmth where it brushes against them. Something else brushes their thigh, blood-hard and sticky wet at the tip. And fuck, fuck,  _ definitely _ proportional. It jabs against them with quick little thrusts as the dog lines up, until it’s sliding hot along their cunt, brushing against their clit. 

Cel’s hips jerk away hard, slapping against the bench, and a few people laugh. 

Then the tip catches, hot and stretching, and Cel doesn’t even have a moment to brace before the dog slams forward, impaling them. Its furred hips smack bruisingly hard against their arse, its whole monstrous cock sheathed in them. 

Their scream is painfully loud, and it’s answered by jeers and delighted laughter.

The dog doesn’t give them even a moment to relax, just draws its hips back sharply and shoves in again, just as hard. Its paws pull Cel backwards into its thrusts, bouncing them on its massive cock, stuffing them full to their limit and beyond it, again and again. 

The fucking is relentless, a brutal battering, and Cel finds they can’t keep their whimpers and cries hidden anymore. They sob desperately, resting their salt-sodden cheek on the leather beneath them, gasping for breath. 

The woman in front of them crouches down, deceptively tender hands stroking through their hair. “Look at you, sweetheart,” she murmurs sweetly, “all blown pupils and drooling away. Without all those potions and weapons, that big brain, you really are just a bitch.” Two thin fingers slide into their mouth, and Cel can’t even think to bite down. 

The dog continues to pound into them, massive muscles flexing as it forces itself as deep as anything’s ever gone into them. Using them, like all they are is a wet hole to get off in, just a body that happens to be vaguely compatible. 

And Cel is wet, they can feel it starting to coat the tops of their thighs. They should be grateful - their body making this violent thing a little easier to endure - but the shame is corrosive, acidic. 

“Please,” they whimper - oh, they weren’t going to beg, were they, but that was then and this is now. “Please, get it, get it off me.”

The woman’s face is out of focus, their eyes blurred with tears, but they think they can see her lips curl up, outlined stark by the firelight. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly interrupt Ares before he’s had his fill. Honestly, I don't know if I could even drag him off you.” She pats Cel’s burning cheek. “Best to relax, enjoy yourself.”

Her other hand, Cel notices, is pressed tight against her crotch, hips circling slowly against it. 

Somehow, the dog’s cock is stretching them  _ more _ now, their entrance forced wider with each thrust, and Cel doesn’t understand at first - just knows that it’s more overwhelming sensation, something else they’re forced to take. But then the realisation penetrates the haze, and Cel sobs even harder, trying futilely to pull away. It’s no use; there’s nowhere to go, and the dog just pulls them back, claws scraping into their shoulders as it bounces them back onto its cock.

The stretch only gets wider. Impossibly intense, right by their entrance, where they’re most sensitive. It burns, but it doesn’t hurt, not anymore. 

The dog keeps fucking them with it, forcing the knot in and out until it literally can’t anymore. Even then, it still pulls at it, jostling Cel’s limp body as their hips are pulled backwards. 

It's that awful, addictive tugging that does it, shakes something loose inside them, and Cel screams as their cunt spasms, as pleasure rips them to pieces. The dog barks sharply, grinding in as deep as it can possibly go, and Cel could swear they can feel it, through the clenching waves. A wash of heat, deep in them.

The woman laughs gleefully. “Fuck, i think they actually came!” The camp erupts in noise, cheers and even some applause mixed with yelled comments and wordless jeers. 

The dog, finally still, rests heavily on Cel’s back, panting loudly above them. Cel’s panting too, trying to catch their breath through the aching waves of aftershocks, the all-over burn of humiliation. 

They don’t manage it. The weight of the animal on their back is crushing their lungs so they can’t take a deep breath; their throat is too clogged with tears.

Eventually the knot deflates, and the dog pulls out, rearing back off them and leaving them shuddering with renewed cold. Without its massive, furred bulk covering them, they feel painfully exposed, especially where they’re so open, so soaking drooling wet.

The man from before steps up to them and swipes a finger through the sodden mess of their cunt. “Fucking wrecked,” he murmurs, before smacking them on the arse again and turning away to yell, “Who wants sloppy seconds? Come on, form a line.” 

“But they’re gonna be all loose!” someone complains, to general laughter.

The man scoffs. “Fuck their arse then, that’ll be tight enough. But first,” another swipe of fingers, this time more purposeful, “first I’m getting mine.”

His belt jingles as it’s undone, and Cel closes their burning eyes and braces.


End file.
